


To All of You

by TheShinySword



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: 2nd Person, F/F, Major EP 5 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 06:09:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5036845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheShinySword/pseuds/TheShinySword
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Whatever debt the universe had to settle with you is sure as fuck collected with interest." Brief Epilogue to Life is Strange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To All of You

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't posted fanficiton in a very long time (and never on this site) but after I finished Life is Strange this sort of poured out of me and I figured I might as well share it. Enjoy

When the storm finally clears and the last house has fallen down (you hope to whatever fucker is up there the last house has fallen down because whatever debt the universe had to settle with you is sure as fuck collected with interest) you take Max by the hand and lead her down. And when she stops you give her time. She deserves time. 

You offer to go around the town, but she insists on walking through the center. To finally face the consequences of her actions, she says. She’s stronger than you ever could be. But you already knew that. You wince in the general direction of your mom’s diner. There’ll be time to mourn later. 

And then you drive. It barely registers how odd it is that your truck still runs after your hometown was leveled. To be fair you’re too busy looking for words to say. You haven’t spoken since you left town. A hundred terrible jokes come to mind, a thousand blithe comments but it seems your mouth is only good for breathing at the moment. Besides, Max doesn’t seem to be looking for conversation. You’ve never been good at comforting. Your forte is anger, not compassion. So you drive. 

Where are you going? You’re not sure, vaguely Los Angeles, really just south. You took nothing with you, (was there anything even to take?) You know you’ll have to go back, that Max still has a family out there (you remind yourself the dead can wait) but for now you drive. 

You haven’t seen another car for hours when your eyes are finally too heavy to keep open. “I’m gonna pull over” you finally break the silence. Max finally turns away from the window, “okay.” 

You pull into an empty field and park the car. You exit, she follows. “I think I still have some blankets in here.” There are indeed still blankets in the back of your pickup, and they’re only a little damp. You wince but roll them out anyway. The sky’s cleared up and there are a thousand stars watching you. (Part of you thinks this is almost romantic, if it weren’t for the tragic deaths of almost everyone you know earlier in the day. You shove those thoughts aside again.) 

You slide into the truck’s bed and pat the spot beside you. Max dutifully follows. This is the moment where you comfort her. Where you tell her it’s okay. But you can’t. 

So you do what you’ve always done when words fail you (and you’ve never been good with words anyway). You wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her in. It’s like you flipped a switch, and everything Max was holding in, floods out. She curls against your chest. She’s sobbing and yelling and screaming. The past week was hell (how long was it for Max? How fucking long has this week been? How many times has she seen you die?) and she’s feeling it all at once. 

And all you can do is hold her close. And she is so small, so much smaller than you ever realized. You don’t let go. You won’t let go.  
And suddenly you’re crying too and at first you think it’s for those who are gone but these tears are for you. Because you’re alive. You’re alive and you know you’re selfish, you’ve always been selfish but you’re pretty damn sure the only selfish thing Max ever did was save you. And it doesn’t matter if you’re not worth it because you’re alive and here and so is Max. And you realize you’re not just happy, you’re overjoyed. 

You don’t know if she kissed you or you kissed her but it doesn’t really matter because the end result’s the same. It’d be romantic if it wasn’t so damn tragic. And you’re pulling her on top of you and she strips off your tank top and you’ve never wanted something so much and fuck feeling bad about surviving, you’re not going to waste the life you’ve been given. You’ll enjoy it for everyone who can’t. You fucking promise. 

“I love you.” You know you don’t need to say it. You have loved her since she was twelve years old and covered in flour, and you have loved her for five straight days (and she has loved you for so much longer) but you want to hear it out loud. You want her to hear it. 

You feel her smile against you skin. It’s only there for a moment but it’s a start. If this is all you can do for her, maybe it’s enough. And you know she’s not okay. But she will be someday.


End file.
